


As The Wave Washes Over Us

by willowthorn



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowthorn/pseuds/willowthorn
Summary: Cassander, youngest scion of the sunken city, is bound by prophecy to leave the place of their birth. The open ocean is far from empty, but it does not make it any easier. And then there is a storm. And then there is a ship.





	As The Wave Washes Over Us

There is an old story, handed down with each sea-glass bead they string in their hair. When they are young, the story is that back when the world was new, light crested the waves and sunk down in scattered pieces to the ocean floor. Sent to drift, these pieces of light grew slowly, gathering the shine of sands and the colour of coral. From the shelves of deep-sea mountains their cities flourished, glowing far from the surface. When they are older, the light turns to fire and the mountains to cities that once knew the touch of wind instead of currents. They see it in the guardians that welcome drifters to their land - towering white stone, the curve of their tails not part of the craft but part of the same current that formed their own fins. The same current that smoothed flat the armor the guardians wore, year after year, until the stone was carved again to flush out their features. Once, long ago, they imagine the guardians stood higher than their tallest tower, sturdy on their two legs. But now they are shorter. They are prouder. They survive. Their numbers multiply. And as the tides rise and fall, so does their civilization. In times of peace their city grows. In times of war they mourn their dead under the great bones of ancient whales and allow their stories to flourish, carved into stones protected from the open sea. 

There's no romance to the open sea. There's no life, no visible life, for miles. There is light filtering in from the world above to dance on the floor of the invisible below. There's the drift of currents, and the gentle hum that comes from so much silence - from whale song too deep and too far away to be truly heard. No, there is no romance. Cass decides this as they float belly up, just beyond the touch of the brightest rays. They watch the scales of their underbelly shimmer slightly, barely visible unless they move fully into the light. They watch the curve of the waves above them, feel the echoes of their movement in the sway of their seaweed satchel. The great shadows of the old warriors had faded into the distance long ago. They had spent the night curled like drift against textured rock that had not withstood the march of time, eyes wide with anticipation. 

But now, in the day, with clear seas and empty sky, they find themselves wanting. Wondering. The elder's words spoke of loss, of anger, and growth. They had spoken of things that were not yet. "Child," they had said swimming slowly, barely disturbing the glowing plankton clinging to the stone walls of their keep, "we are a people of prophecy. We have always been. And what you were you will be again. You will leave us."

"What bullshit." They mutter to the empty waves. "To what end? There is nothing out there that I care about. How can I be anything, if there is nothing." 

"It is foretold." The elder's voice reminds them, an echo all too familiar. Cass is left to float, plankton shifting to tickle their outstretched hand. They want to cry out, to swim back home and make them explain every twist and turn their fate will take. But Cassander, third child of the house, knows better than to argue with their elder. Nothing they could say would change the fact of prophecy. Nothing would change the endless tide. 

It's lonely beyond words. They think of sharks made slim and long by the stretch of space as they search for food. They think of whales, slow and elegant, wise in ways they can only think of. They think of the shadows far, far below, that they will drift down towards when the light wasn't so bright and the plankton began to glow. 

It takes days, drifting on currents, breaking apart the scarce crabs they can find picking at the hulls of sunken ships not yet old enough to have substantial coral blooms. They hate the festering, metallic smell of those ships. They hate the slimy feeling of surface sponge and bight, soft things that taste horribly. But they will find so much more in time. It's something they convince themselves of, day after day - the more they swim, the more they will see. The more they see, the more destiny will push and pull at them. They will find their place, even if that place ends up being where they started. 

At this point, as long as their place is not trapped in the hull of a metal ship, then Cass is happy.  
The pressure of shadows above them lets them know they are not alone after three long weeks of drifting. The gurgle of great voices shakes something deep inside them, a tugging at their heart at the chorus. They turn, all sharp lines with their arms pressed to their side - small, not a threat, never a threat to these old ones. Large bodies pass, one after another, until only two remain - a mother with her calf, circling them slowly, wise eyes taking them apart bit by bit, the small bodies of fish that sought her shelter fading back at their strange presence. Whatever she sees in them must be good enough, safe enough to allow her calf to push their grand head against the small of Cass' back, above the curve of their fin. 

This is how they come to swim along the underside of whales, clicking sharply as a calf examines a drifting yellow thing. It is bitter, and it is sharp, they sing, trying to get the rumble of the whale-song just right. Their voice is too high by a measure, and yet, they are understood. They are small, they are quick, and they are good at keeping the young safe while their mothers dive. They prove themselves by days and weeks. They run their hands along massive sides, feeling the currents break around their bulk. In the endless open seas, having moving mountains for companions makes the world feel smaller. It's no coral city, but all the same it becomes familiar. 

It takes time to understand the pod's movements, the currents they prefer. The waters grow colder as Cass' hair grows longer, the warm stream of the Grand Passage broken through weeks ago. But the krill grow in number, the calf they swam alongside growing fatter, bigger, until they were a full tail length longer than Cass, even if they stretched their arms far before them. The pod spoke to them more often, the child urging them to breach the waves as they did - taste the thrill of open air, the sound of birds, the sight of them soaring far above instead of diving like arrows into the ocean. 

Cass tastes open air once, just once in their time with the pod, the cheers of the younger whales urging them on as they kick with all their might. The world above is bright and dizzying, the squawk of birds far too loud. They see greens and browns speckled in the far distance, upside-down as their body twists, sun catching on their scales like a beacon before they slam back down, the grace of their ascent lost in a moment. They groan as they sink back under, hair floating wildly about them as the wakes of the whales turn them over again. Their back stings - their landing had been rough, but their ego takes longer to heal. 

Then there is the storm. 

They feel it in the water, a charge that had become more and more familiar in their exile. It makes their hair stand on end even when it's trapped in cording and braids. The whales know the patterns of the upper waves as well as they know their own calls, and they know it is best to give themselves breath before they dive to wait out the worst of the waves. They give them as much time as they can to adjust to the pressure of the deep ocean, but the sea churns deeper still with nothing to break against. It’s all they can do to hang on, the pull of the water pressing their fins flat against their sides. They can hardly breathe like this, they can hardly see like this. Cassander feels their hands slip, feels their nails scrambling to find purchase against the slip of their ward’s skin. There are no barnacles they can wrap their hand around. The dorsal fin slips past their fingers. 

They hiss against the rolling waves, kicking up a stream of bubbles as they race to keep the pod in sight. The storm twists them, the waves rock them, and the pod is a shadow. They call, but their voice is lost in the rumble. They squint into the depths, but there is nothing, nothing. For a lingering breath Cassander thinks they see the belly of their ward, white against the dark. For a moment, the drift pulled them, and they were truly lost. Rain – cold, and sharp, and unfamiliar pelted against their skin, the roar of thunder deafening. Lightning pulled the waves into stark relief.

They can feel the world drop out from under them. They can feel the terrible swell of a mountain behind them. They can see the deck of a metal ship flashing silver, the frantic ringing of bells breaking through the roar as it tips, all but vertical against the cusp of the wave. They try to dive. They try to get away. It’s like swimming against stone. They think of their elders, they think of their siblings. The wave pulls them into itself, and they think on the looming guardians, The King of Storms, Lord of the Open Sea. Their heart is set – Cassander, Third Scion of the house of Pelagios will not be lost like this.

The wave rolls and they roll with it, watching as all things bright and small are swept away.  
In the wake there is a lull, the capsized ship shedding tides as it tries to rise. The sound of shuddering iron cut through the barking of humans, scattered echoes calling back from far too close for comfort.

They try to dive. Their hair, tossed free from their braid, floats around them, swaying with the heaving waves. Through the din they can see the glint of containers, of weighted nets drifting down. There are legs, pale blue in the light of the storm, kicking furiously. Cass can see the bob of a pale ring of plastic. It won’t last long. 

It takes a simple kick, the storm with them as they reach towards the human, nails digging into the pale flesh of its calf. The blood is bright and tangy, the flesh yielding, and Cass thinks it will make a perfect snack for the long road home. They tug again, slipping easily past the frantic kicks of their prey, and they see bright eyes, the see short blond hair whipped around by the waves. They see fear, they smell fear, and then surprise and fascination catches their eye. The human’s eyes are bright and round, bubbles leaking from its mouth as it – it does not speak, but it forms what would be words if it had the air to breathe. 

Cass lets go. The human bobs back to the surface only to dive back under, all awkward limbs and weak flailing as it tries to follow them deeper. Stupid. Cass sighs as they turn back, pushing the human back to the surface. Their chiding only makes it grin, all joy and amazement as if it no longer felt the holes in its leg. It babbles back something, weird and excited and breathy. Gross. Cass lets it go, and a wave slams it down into the water. Cass pulls it back up, and it clings to them, small tremors making their way through its arms. 

The ship it had came from looms black in the distance, too far for the human to swim on its own when it’s already shaking. Fine, Cass thinks as they start pulling the human towards it, careful to keep their own gills under water. If I can’t eat it, I might as well put it back. It’s easier to swim now, the worst of the waves past. It takes time, too much time, the little tremors changing to quaking shudders that threaten to leave it to the whims of the waves. They reach up, wrapping an arm around the human’s waist. “You’re nearly there.” They try, hoping it understands the tone if not the words. The arms around their shoulders pull tighter, so they let their kicks become stronger. 

They feel the wake of the ship. They feel the human push against them, one arm raised as it shouted to the others on deck. They see brightly coloured heads poke over the side, one with long hair tipped with red, the other one vibrant green. More yelling, and they feel the water around them shudder as the machines on deck begin to move. A wave passes over them, and ropes fall around the two of them. The human has one hand on their wrist, and the ocean falls away as they are lifted. Their tail smacks against the ropes, gills flaring as they twist away as best they can, calling out to the waves to take them back, for the human to let them go.  
Their curses, their hisses, are met with soothing words, the hand steady even as Cass claws at its arm – not to maim, but to warn. 

The cold iron of the deck shocks them still. It feels like forever, it feels like no time at all.  
They cannot breathe. They can only look at the humans, wide-eyed, all of them looking so bright and curious and afraid as their tail thumps a warning against the deck. They cannot breathe. They push raw air from their throat, and they are loud, so loud in the open air.  
They keep their distance. The storm rolls over them, a hum that turns to a hiss that turns to white noise.

They cannot breathe.

Mako watches as the tail of his savior stops moving, ears ringing as blood runs down his arm. Yellow eyes bore into his, raw anger and betrayal burning him even as he watches their chest heave, watches them sink fully to the deck of the Kingdom Come. 

“Fuck.”  
____

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” He barely feels the sticky burn of the cuts on his arms as he rushes towards the merperson, rolling them to the side. He watches their eyes roll back, their heavy tail twisting awkwardly as he tries to shake them back into awareness. He barely hears AuDy’s heavy steps, the captain tossing a bucket of water over them both unceremoniously.

“I told you to toss just a regular rope down! Not a whole fucking net!” He’s shaking, watching twitching gills. 

“We don’t have just a rope.” AuDy gestures Jacqui over, Aria trailing after her to pull Mako to the side as they lift the merperson easily. 

“Should we just toss it back?” Jacqui asks, as if they were just another fish, as if she did not fully register the long, tangled hair sticking to her chest as she adjusts her grip. 

“Are you kidding?! That’s the first mer ever and you just want to toss them back? While they hate us?” Mako hisses, wincing as his gesturing exposes his arm to the pelting rain. “They could come back and sink everything! Who even knows what could be down there!”

“Ok, ok. We’ll take them to the bathroom and we can get your arm fixed up and everything will be fine.” Aria begins to pull gently on his elbow as Jacqui shrugs, long strides letting her and AuDy pull ahead of the other two as they disappeared into the ship. 

“This is the worst.”

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this is not going to be a little mermaid au. It probably won't turn into the shape of water either but we'll see. 
> 
> I played around with my writing a bit on this one, I wanted it to have a sort of... memory of a fairy tale quality, but I'm not sure if I'll stick to it.


End file.
